Author's note: Borrowed some dialogue and a bit of plot from "Toby or not Toby" (Season 2, Episode 24)
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"Walter. Walter!"
Cabe's concerned shout penetrated the spiral of fear swirling around his brain. Opening his eyes, he noted everyone was staring at him. How long had he been lost in his own head? Lifting his left hand to wipe his face, he felt the postcard he didn't remember crushing.
"Okay," he said as he placed the paper on his desk and tried to smooth it out. "We-we know C-Collins has been planning this for weeks, if not months, and today presented the perfect opportunity to-to. . ."
"To nab Paige," finished Toby as he patted Walter's shoulder. "We know, buddy. We need to figure out how to get her back."
"The first thing we need to figure out what he means by 'the rabbit hole,' said Happy. "You two were usually here whenever that bullshit happened."
"Do we really want to talk about this here?" Sly asked. He pushed up his glasses. "I mean, if he's listening, won't he try to thwart whatever we plan we devise to rescue her?
"Sly Dog has a point." Toby folded his arms. "Coo-Coo Collins must have left a listening device behind years ago."
Walter conceded both men were right. In fact, he'd be surprised if Mark hadn't planted some kind of undetectable bug in the garage before he'd been kicked out of Scorpion. His penchant for eavesdropping was a manic obsession. He had the ability to tap into any line of communication; military, government, corporate, even those traveling through thin air.
"Let him listen." Walter turned his attention back to the problem at hand. "The rabbit hole. . ."
It was true he and Mark had fallen into the rabbit hole on many occasions, but there was one time. . . The first time . . . It was an important enough date Collins had used as an access code to his antennas. The conversation they'd had during the Montero nuclear reactor meltdown surged to the forefront of his thoughts.
"I know where he means," Walter said. "The diner where he and I stayed up all night discussing the quantum mechanics of time travel."
"Time travel?" Patty's presence surprised everyone once again. "Are you saying you and this. . .this Collins guy figured out how to time travel?"
"No." Walter ran his fingers through his hair. "You need to go. Sly?"
The teenager protested as Sylvester tried to lead her out of the garage but she quieted down and left peacefully when Cabe joined the human calculator's efforts.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked Toby. "Let's go."
"What's this 'we' business, Doc?" Cabe stepped in front of the shrink.
"Paige may need a doctor." He spun around at smile reassuring at Walter. "She is pregnant, you know."
"Homeland can find her a doctor if she needs one," said the agent. "This is a hostage situation which needs to be handled by professionals."
"I'm going alone," Walter said.
"Now, son, you can't. . ."
"I don't have a choice. Collins will. . . He'll hurt. . ."
"We don't know that," Cabe contradicted him.
"'Come alone or else.'" Walter pointed to the message on the crumpled postcard. "I won't take the chance he'll. . ."
"197 is right," the psychiatrist cut in. "Collins has been fixated on Walter since the day they met. He will do anything to clear any and all obstacles between them. He tried to get rid of all of us before he got the boot. But we're just chump change now in Mr Demento's brain. Paige is a huge roadblock to him and Walter living crazily ever after. The baby even more so. That's all the justification he needs to remove them from his way so he can have Walter all to himself."
It became hard to breathe once more, cold beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his insides churned, images of what Mark might do to hurt Paige and the baby crowding his mind. Shaking off the distressing visions, he rubbed his hand over his face as he attempted to focus on what Cabe was saying.
". . .not a good idea to go in without backup," the agent stated, a grim expression on his face. "It would be easy enough for a SWAT team to surround the rendezvous point without anyone knowing they're there."
"But Collins isn't anyone," Walter said. "He could eavesdrop on them as easily as he did on us. I have to go in without comms. . .or a wire," he added as the older man opened his mouth to suggest it. Placing his hands on top of his head, he cleared it of everything but what he needed to do next. "Okay, Happy, Toby, Sylvester," he began after his plan sprang into focus, "go to the hospital Collins escaped from. . ."
"Yeah, the one place we know he isn't," sneered the mechanic.
"No, Wally has a point," the shrink countered. "If we want to learn the plan, know the man. And we do that by seeing the cuckoo's nest he's been scheming in for the last five months."
"Fine." Happy yanked her keys from her jacket pocket.
"What do you want me to do?" asked Cabe. "I'm not going to just sit here and twiddle my goddamn thumbs while you kids are out there running around, risking your necks. . ."
"That's exactly what I need you to do." Walter knew the older man wouldn't like taking a back seat. But no law enforcement meant no law enforcement and Mark already had a low opinion of his relationship with the Homeland agent. He didn't want to antagonize his former friend anymore than he had to. "You can call the hospital to see if she checked in, call Kovelsky's. . . And someone needs to stay here in c-case. . .in case. . ." He couldn't finish his optimistic hope Paige would find her back to the garage, both her and their son safe and sound. He'd run the odds and that outcome was not favorable.
"What about Ralph?"
Sly's question brought Walter up short. Oh shit. He'd forgotten about Ralph. All his energy had been focused on Paige and the baby and. . . Dismay swept through him. If he couldn't remember an important detail like Ralph. . . What hope did he have he would be capable enough to deal with an expert manipulator like Collins?
"He's with a babysitter, isn't he?" Happy pointed out, disrupting his bleak thoughts.
"Aftercare closes at seven." Stating facts usually made him feel better, but somehow this one didn't.
"He needs to be told," said Toby. "We can't hide this from him. He can keep it together. Remember when you and Paige. . .when you were. uh, you know? He handled it like a trooper."
"I'll go pick him up," Cabe volunteered, "and make sure he gets some dinner."
"And tell him about his mom?" prompted the shrink.
The agent met Walter's eyes. "If that's okay with you, son."
"Yes." Some of the weight lifted off his chest knowing Ralph would be taken care of and Cabe would have something to occupy his time which would hopefully keep him from meddling.
"All right, then," said the behaviorist. "We have our orders. Let's get rolling."
Walter grabbed Cabe's arm as the older man started to follow the others as they went to gather their gear. "Thank you," he said. "Can you tell Ralph I'm going to do everything I can to keep his m-mom and b-brother safe. . . and tell him I'm sorry. . . Sorry I let this happen. . ."
"Hold on," Cabe cut him off. "Mark Collins' lack of mental stability is not your fault and never has been. I know you feel responsible for him. . .and guilty for having him committed. But that was the best thing you could have done for him. . .and for yourself."
"Okay." Walter watched as his mentor walked toward the door, glad he forgave him and allowed him back into his life. Cabe was wrong though. He was the one responsible for befriending Mark, practically forcing the others to accept him as part of their group of geniuses. For ignoring for far too long the other man's cruelty, his pettiness, his jealousy. . .just so he could have a friend.
Mentally resetting, he gathered up the postcards, his phone, Happy's lighter, and stuffed them into his pocket. As he walked past Paige's desk, he saw her sweater draped on the back of her chair. Lavender lingered in the air as he snatched it up. He breathed it in, hoping against hope it wouldn't be the last time he did so.
ooooo
Walter glanced at the building as he got out of his car. It was a different color but definitely the same address he remembered. Vestiges of what was once a diner were still visible. But the large front windows displayed women in spandex garments instead of booths and tables.
He couldn't see any men inside and he was sure Mark Collins would look as out of place in a yoga studio as he felt barging into what appeared to be the middle of a class. But he wasn't going to let a little embarrassment stop him from saving Paige and the baby.
Gathering up his nerve, he pushed his way through the glass entrance doors. A small foyer separated the outside door from the main studio. On the wall to his left was a bulletin board filled with notices and advertisements. As he passed by it, he spotted a blank postcard pinned on the lower right hand, nearly hidden under a flyer for dog walking.
Slipping the lighter from his pocket, he removed the postcard before stepping out of the line of sight of the women in the studio. A flame flared from the lighter and he held the paper over it, the heat once again revealing the nearly illegibly scrawled words.
'Congratulations! I knew you could do it. Remember the day we met? Of course you do. Benediximus.'
Good luck. Mark, of all people, knew of Walter's disbelief in luck. Despite the seriousness of his situation, he had to chuckle at the other man's use of Latin. Collins had always preferred the dead languages, teaching himself Latin, Sanskrit, Ancient Greek; while scorning Walter for learning ones like Spanish and Chinese.
And of course he remembered the day they met. At a physics lecture at USC given by an incompetent hack. He'd only attended because he'd been determined to not let his brain grow sluggish because he was only using less than half its capacity as a forensic bank analyst. He'd muttered corrections whenever the man had got something wrong. Which was often. When the presentation was over, Collins had come up and introduced himself, saying he couldn't help but notice Walter's disgust with the lecturer. Thus began their tumultuous relationship which ended when Walter had had him committed.
The USC campus was on the other side of town and the clock was ticking. Certain Annenberg Auditorium would be yet another futile stop on the crazy train his erstwhile friend was using to jerk him around, Walter had no choice but to find out.
ooooo
"Welcome to the cuckoo's nest," announced Toby as the nurse's aide opened the door to Mark Collins' room.
"Good to know they didn't let him have scissors," Happy observed as she waved her hand at the pictures and words obviously torn from magazines and catalogs and taped onto the walls. "Is this ringing any alarm bells, Doc?"
"This is so creepy." Sylvester moved closer to peer at one of the photographs, instantly recoiling at the image of a oozing brain.
Toby took in everything; the pictures, the words, how all of Collins' belongings were anally lined up with nothing out of place. It was all too neat and tidy and very telling. "I'm not seeing any patterns nor a plan. Looks like just random bits and pieces. See if there's anything he may have written himself."
"Patients cannot have writing implements," recited the aide. "They can make weapons with them."
"Look under his bed," Toby said, kneeling down next it. "That's where everyone stashes their contraband."
Happy snorted. "Like your dirty magazines."
"They already searched Meester Mark's room," the nurse's aide said. Toby hadn't really looked at her before, but with her stature and her accent, he would hazard a guess she was originally from somewhere in Central America. He didn't know why it seemed significant but he didn't have time to figure it out just then.
"Those were for research purposes," he replied as he stretched out onto his stomach and stuck his head under the mattress. "Eureka!"
Scrambling to his feet, he gestured to Sly. "Help me flip this." With the big guy's help, they turned the mattress up on one side.
"Someone recently re-sewed this," said Happy as she pulled out her pocketknife.
"No, you cannot do that!" The mechanic ignored the aide as she sliced her blade through the thin fabric, revealing what appeared to be an antenna strapped to the bedsprings.
"Was there a microwave that needed replaced in the past couple of months?" she asked.
The nurse's aide nodded. "Si, there was one in the kitchen that stopped working."
"What is that?" asked Sylvester.
"It's a wireless signal booster." Happy peered out the window. "The administration building is right over there. He used this to get onto its internet."
"Patients are not allowed on the. . ." the aide began to say.
"Yet he did," the mechanic cut in. "He must have pulled KP duty to gain access to the microwave."
The nurse's aid bobbed her head. "Yes, he volunteer."
"That's probably where he got the lemons to make the invisible ink too." Sly pushed up his glasses.
"So someone needs to go down to the kitchen to see what else Collins tampered with," Happy said. "And someone needs to go check out what he was searching for online in the computer lab."
"I'll go to the kitchen," offered Sylvester.
"You just don't want to see what twisted stuff Collins was looking up," Toby teased. He really couldn't blame the big guy though. Mark Collins was one sick puppy. He wasn't sure he wanted to peer that deeply into the other man's warped psyche either.
The human calculator wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm leaving now." He hustled out of the room, his relief almost tangible. Toby turned to the aide.
"What's your name?" he asked her in a calm, gentle tone.
"Nimah," the nurse's aide said.
"Nimah, can you tell us anymore about what Mister Mark did? His daily routine?"
"He do what the other patients do," she said, her expression growing worried. "Is he a bad man? He is nice to me and my cousin."
"Your cousin?" Happy came over to stand beside the shrink.
"Yes, my cousin, Yolondra, she works here also. He was very interested in her. I think he like her."
Toby glanced at the mechanic and saw the same skepticism he felt in her eyes. The Collins they knew hated women. "I'm sure he did," he said, not wanting to burst the woman's bubble. "Is she here today? Can we talk to her?"
Nimah's face fell. She would make a terrible poker player. "No, she not come in today. I tried to call her but she does not answer. She never misses work, not even when she's sick. She needs the good, what, the good referee. . ."
"You mean a good reference?"
"Si, yes, good reference."
"Why does she need a good reference?"
"She is studying to be a midwife here in US."
"A midwife?" Oh shit. A hand gripped his arm and he didn't even have to look at Happy to know she'd come to the same realization.
There was only reason why Mark Collins would need a midwife. And it was. . .
"Not good."